


all that glitters

by exfriends



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Consensual prostitution, M/M, Multi, Threesomes, angsty byakuya togami, angsty everyone really, rarepair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exfriends/pseuds/exfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>those who have said that money can’t buy happiness clearly haven’t had enough money. he’s known for years that money can get you anything, from the easiest things to the most wild parts of his imagination. and that is what he’s used to, any different was less than satisfactory. </p><p>(it can even buy him people.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	all that glitters

**Author's Note:**

> so. this fanfiction was originally written in like, 2013-early 2014, but i ended up getting really beat up about it and unsure of whether or not it was really any good. now it's 2015, my days in dangan ronpa hell are mostly over, but i uncovered this in the deep recesses of my old laptop and thought it needed a bit of dusting off. here's this beauty, rarepair hell, slapped with a noncon warning even though the act was consensual (the topic is a little eh for my sensitivities, so it's more of an extra precaution.) also fuck grammar and capital letters, i refuse to abide by these old rules.

those who have said that money can’t buy happiness clearly haven’t had enough money. he’s known for years that money can get you anything, from the easiest things to the most wild parts of his imagination. and that is what he’s used to, any different was less than satisfactory. 

(it can even buy him people.)

it’s not something he does often, he has a high taste in them that few can supply. it’s risky in many ways, for a lot of reasons, and most lead to always clipped encounters with grubby hands and unfamiliar faces. and every time it happens it’s like having a layer of scum he just can’t completely get off laid on him. soon, he thinks, someone will notice how dirty he’s becoming. 

(what he realizes is anyone worth his time is worth even more of his money.) 

so he needs to aim higher. go for less conventional ways of acquiring new people. people who weren’t meant for that type of buying. 

man, however, is a greedy thing. anyone can be bought with the right numbers.

**8:39 pm, business as usual.**  


he isn’t thinking about numbers when he finds someone who would work. ironically enough, he’s supposed to be thinking about numbers.

it’s while attending a party veiled thinly with the contours of business, and it’s someone he never expected, someone he notices while they accidentally tip dabbles of wine on the tablecloth. they’re young, almost too young, but through his annoyance he sees a glimmer of opportunity. 

in a room full of old conglomerates, he finds his chance to deviate. it’s less dirty, in a sense, to pursue someone worthy of this kind of showing. they’re still beneath him (as many are), but several levels above the street trash he usually throws his money at. 

instead of paying attention, he instead focuses on where his real money will go, as the spots on the tablecloth fall larger with each round. he focuses on how that server goes back to the bartender each time, exchanging half smiles and beyond-pleasantries that perplex him with every interaction. he spends time wondering what exactly they were, if they were friends, something else, which numbers he could use to bend them, or break them, or have them fall to each other. 

it was bewildering enough that he pondered buying one, but two was just…. 

(concerning.)

different. 

it wasn’t entirely impossible but it poses a bit of a challenge, one that he works out between sips and taps of forks against porcelain and determines that it’s a venture worth attempting. 

(he never attempts things, he makes it happen, that is how he maintains the big bucks.) 

by the end of the night he’s grabbed the server’s collar and made his offers, watched as they stumbled off and explained it all to the bartender, witnessed their interactions and how the redhead’s surprise turned beyond intrigue to smiles and frowns and begging expressions the other noticed even from his position over a wineglass on the other side. 

he understood it as this: they needed convincing. specifically the server, whose compliance had wavered the more they seemed to understand what would be happening. but he wasn’t worried about it. not at this point. 

as the room clears out, he is completely assured of his victory, he sees no other alternative. 

in the end, the server comes back, wavering in expression. 

“you. him. let’s go.” his words are simple enough, he believes, but it takes a moment for them to process. they stand rather gape mouthed, seemingly seconds away from bolting or submitting. it’s all surprising, like they’d never done it before. “what, you are friends with him, right? make it happen.” his air of impatience causes movement, the shy server maneuvering over to the bar gesturing towards a redheaded bartender with a few too many barbells. 

he has money to spare tonight, the kind of money he wants to throw in the air and have it fall on sets of hotel sheets and get damp with sweat and sex and for once, have a good night. it all comes to fruition when the server comes back, pulling the bartender while still looking as nerve stricken as ever. one could even describe as stage fright, but the spotlights weren’t even on yet. 

“alright then. yes or no?” 

(few say no to byakuya togami.) 

the bartender grins haphazardly, scratching the back of his head as he comments, “this is all kind of weird though…”

“did i ask for your opinion? you can go, if you think it’s ‘so weird’.” togami spits back. 

“haha, no, that’s not what i meant, it’s just--”

“i think what leon’s trying to say is that he doesn’t understand...um, why you resorted to this?” 

“do i really have to explain myself?” 

“um, no, but i mean, this is kind of a mutual thing…” 

instead of answering, he pulls out two bills and holds them out between the two strangers. leon, the redhead, of course, makes a move to take one, and togami pulls away slightly, so the other’s hand dangles in air fingers outstretched for something that isn’t there anymore. 

“listen to me. here’s the deal. don’t question my motives...i pay you for the night, (that implies enough), you’re gone by morning. this is up to you, i’m not forcing you to do anything, so if you think you can try to turn this against me later, you’ve got that wrong. do you understand?” his lines are clean and direct, barely altered from the deals he’s made before. they are foolproof in the sense that there is a big enough number on the line that no one would risk crossing him. 

or maybe it’s because he’s byakuya togami. 

the one he’s sure is named makoto, (based off his then-shiny namebadge from the beginning of the night) nods quickly, turning an odd shade of pale pink. 

“sounds alright to me.” leon murmurs, and they both get handed the bills. 

a sort of victorious, alighted feeling overtook byakuya togami just then, a little different from all those other times but entirely satisfying. he’s used to getting what he wants and doing what he needs to get it, this is no different. 

to use leon’s terms, it wasn’t weird at all.

**1:35 a.m, transport.**

the driver is waiting by the limo door, also attracted by togami’s numbers, advised to turn an eye to the excess guests trailing after him, but aware enough to turn the lights off in the strip of the limo, leaving the back caravan half hazed with the mini-leds from the stocked minibar.

the outsiders are equally as hazed, most likely not having such an experience before in their lives, so they silently question which area to sit in with their eyes, bodies half bent over from the height, thus leaving togami to gesture to either side of him, along the window seat. what did they expect, to sit by the door? have a pleasant conversation about the stock market while sipping dry martinis? 

(he doesn’t even have a taste for dry martinis.) 

the ride is smooth and quiet, the strip window is dark enough that not even the streetlamps come through, dark enough that togami can’t even see which hand is trailing up his shoulder and into his hair, which face is suddenly alarmingly close to his. anonymous lips press against his own, he plays a guessing game to figure out who it is. when metal probes along teeth, its enough of a giveaway to who’s there then, and who’s there with hands on his inner thighs, which lips leave to try something else. 

(for someone who thought it was so weird, he sure is enthusiastic.) 

in the silence of the limousine, there was the soft sound of a silent sewn in zipper being pulled down by shaky teeth, a crinkle of fabric…then the inaudible sound of heat wrapped around his length. it’s unexpected, yet intended, and togami hisses. his hands clutch, pulling at the tight leather and almost leaving streaking trails of pressure and sweat. 

(it had been a while.) 

togami blames everything on the fact that he doesn’t know the person who’s sucking him off. its disgraceful really, but the tug and pull between what’s acceptable and what isn’t is a neverending cycle that keeps his mind distracted--

(because the anonymity of it all, and not the metal ball rolling up his shaft as leon moves, is what is getting him going--so he assumes.)

leon pulls off for a moment, breathing hot, heavy, and if it wasn’t so dark he would have thought leon was looking up at him, gauging for some sort of reaction that he wasn’t going to give. what, did he expect a blue ribbon?

(if he wasn’t so sure his breath would give away how he was feeling, he’s sure he would have said something along the lines of thank you.)

in the silence, between the attempts at muted breathing, he can hear the other one, instead of getting involved, slipping their thumb under the tab of a soda can and cracking it open. 

_naegi,_ he thinks, as leon composes himself slightly. _this is going to be interesting._

**2:18a.m, hotel**

the limo finally makes its last turn to the final destination, and he is enthralled.

(it’s unnerving.) 

they all pile out, cool and collected, acting if the events that unfolded had been refolded and stashed away in the bottom drawer of a cabinet. the only evidence is the open can of soda in one of their hands and the other walking different, indescribably different yet familiar. togami can’t bare to think of what’s going on with either of them, he has to pretend, just for another moment, that he is still toeing the line of acceptance. he overhears them talking, because the distance between them isn’t enough for that sort of anonymity. 

“what are you even doing, naegi?” leon whispers, nudging casually as they walked. 

“what do you mean what am i doing? you just blew a guy in a limo!” 

leon mumbles a sentence and all that carries is ‘not participating’, ‘gonna fuck everything up’ and ‘thought that was what i was supposed to do’. if this is his attempt at encouraging nervous naegi makoto, no wonder it doesn’t work. naegi swallows, never wavering from that stricken, panicked expression. 

“i’ll do what i have to do, alright?” naegi whispers back. “you know i’ve never done this before.” 

and just then, for just a moment, leon looks back at togami which an expression that only be read as hoping for the best. 

they all hope this wasn’t something they were going to regret.  
togami’s numbers bought him the penthouse, something that seems casual and normal to him but strikes awe in the other two he brought along. they haven’t felt the difference between low class and togami’s class, and he intends to change that. 

it makes him smile just a bit, watching them. they walk slightly ahead of him and the first to touch on those thick carpeted floors he could call his own if he cared enough about them. but those floors are just one of many floors his numbers got for him, but maybe they were acutely different with the others appreciating it. 

he thinks its the first time someone ever really admired a room of his, or maybe it's the first time he’s paid attention. 

“is that one of those stocked mini fridges?” leon asks as togami closes the door behind them. 

“why wouldn’t it be?” 

leon opens his mouth like he wants to reply sarcastically, yet naegi comes up with a response of his own-- two mini vodka bottles danging out of his mouth already as he shoots them down. naegi probably doesn’t have time to feel the burn. 

“is that seriously you ‘doing what you have to do’?” leon mutters at naegi who takes another bottle out of the mini fridge and unceremoniously throws himself on the one bed in the room. 

he’s been staring at them for the past few seconds with an expression that wavers between annoyed and hindrance--he’s tempted to change the pace but he doesn’t exactly know how, it was never his job to. 

(it’s beyond what he expected.) 

but as naegi drinks away his inhibition, leon sighs and makes his way towards togami anyway, just as he pulls out the last wad of cash from his pocket and throws it just as unceremoniously on the night stand (one that was minimalistic, metal, with a tall slender lamp and bare bulb). he’s smirking, probably because leon’s eyes flickered to it for just a moment. 

could it be that leon didn’t care about the money? 

(impossible.)

(possible?) 

or maybe that he was preoccupied by something else. makes sense, given the situation. 

leon’s a little insistent on getting the job done, an admirable efficiency that results in togami’s back hitting textured walls and having his glasses pushed up against his nose as another face mulled with his. 

the kiss is different this time only because it isn’t in the dark, he thinks everything’s a little different in the light. different because he allows himself to reach out and touch what he bought. because that’s what it was, after all, a purchase to be proud of, one to run his hands down and latch onto. it was a living, breathing purchase with reactions and hitching breath and-- 

“well you guys are having a good time!” each word was spaced out by a hiccup or a giggle, naegi was laying on the bed, half hanging so his head was upside down. his face was red from either the blood rushing to it, the alcohol, or the embarrassment. 

this was his way of loosening up, it seemed, nervous makoto naegi turned impatient. talk about lightweight, or maybe he started buzzed to begin with. togami sure didn’t think this decision was made sober. 

naegi swings up to a sitting position and motions for both of them to come closer, and without really thinking, togami does. it seems really easy to just fall into bed with those strangers, those that seemed ever so talented in making sure he was the one who got what he paid for. 

and through a process of shuffling and awkward half-dressed stages, naegi ends up somewhere in the middle and togami’s somewhere behind but catching up any second.

its a weird tug and pull, one he never expected to be on the end of, but he would never trust anyone to take control of him. so instead, he had both of them at the ends of marionette and got them to do anything he wanted. but never anything to him. always for him. with naegi in the middle and leon in front of him--

it’s a sick situation that only togami would imagine that he wanted. 

(it’s all his numbers could ever do for him.) 

in the silence of the room some hours later, togami is the only one awake. the other two...he doesn’t look to them. too personal, it seems, to even so much as glance in their direction while they were sleeping. it was just too personal for a one night stand. the entire night seemed too personal for a one night stand. 

but he skirted the lines of deviance and came out unscathed. that is what he wanted from the beginning. that morning, his slate would be wiped clean. byakuya togami never participated in such a...heinous misuse of power! even when that power is exactly what he was looking for! 

so this was just a one time thing, only one time. only once with naegi in between him and leon, only once? it could only be once. 

right. 

he wakes up again alone, the money gone, his cellphone propped upright against the modern table lamp with a piece of hotel stationery stuck to it, jagged handwriting across the surface.

_i took the liberty of adding our numbers. u know, just in case. also ur phone is confusing as hell._

_thanks_

**Author's Note:**

> please don't judge me too hard for that vague sexual encounter. i never thought it would play along with the style to get too abrupt with it. it was meant to be a oneshot? but then the idea kind of grew out of control. uhh. r&r please? is that what the people say nowadays...?
> 
> follow me for updates @ caldernado.tumblr.com. thanks.


End file.
